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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529427">So, What Now?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaticPhantom/pseuds/StaticPhantom'>StaticPhantom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Paradise Motel Week (Killjoynest) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Injury, Letters, Post-Canon, death mention, paradise motel week</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:28:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaticPhantom/pseuds/StaticPhantom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Day 4: Post-Canon</p><p>She had done her job. Now what?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Paradise Motel Week (Killjoynest) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>So, What Now?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Where does a bomb go once it’s been detonated? It doesn’t have a place with the Witch, that’s for sure.</p><p> </p><p>I don’t know where I am. </p><p> </p><p>The twins dropped me off in Zone Two. I told them I’d sleep there.</p><p> </p><p>I lied. </p><p> </p><p>I think I remember there being a road here once, but it’s been covered by the sand. No surprise really, I haven’t paid attention to this stretch since Poison and Ghoul first showed me where they stayed before the Diner.</p><p> </p><p>They’re gone now. </p><p> </p><p>They died saving me, because I was the bomb.</p><p> </p><p>I was the one who was going to take down Battery City, destroy Better Living at the core. </p><p> </p><p>Well, I did my job. I think I made some pretty shiny work of it, too. </p><p> </p><p>Now what? I’ve done what I was born to do, what else is there? </p><p> </p><p>Everyone is gone. Poison, Kobra, and Ghoul died in the building. I watched Jet’s body go still on the hood of the Trans Am we had used every single day. If I hadn’t been so confused… I should have screamed and kicked and fought with my teeth and nails, I should have used the bomb inside me to blow the Phoenix Witch back to where she came from and maybe then, maybe Cherri wouldn’t have had to die. </p><p> </p><p>Witch, I know you’re out there. If you’re reading this, I need you to BRING THEM BACK.</p><p> </p><p>They were my family, the only people I ever loved. And I watched every single one of them die.</p><p> </p><p>Bring. </p><p> </p><p>Them.</p><p> </p><p>Back.  </p><p> </p><p>I need them here.</p><p> </p><p>Poison’s mask is still heavy in my pocket. </p><p> </p><p>I know I need to take it to the mailbox, but what if I don’t? What if I carry it with me forever? It’s the last fucking piece of them I have left. Letting go of it would be like killing them all over again.</p><p> </p><p>That’s not true, I know it isn’t. They deserve to move on. I just wish they didn’t have to.</p><p> </p><p>I wish they had blasted Korse to whatever rotten place he had come from right then and there.</p><p> </p><p>The sky’s gone red. Skeptics (and Kobra) would say it was just the sun melting into the horizon, another day completed. I think she’s trying to tell me something. I know I have to let go, they’re never coming back. None of them.</p><p> </p><p>It’s just me now, me and the massive crater in my life which used to be filled with a goal: Take down Better Living. </p><p> </p><p>I’ve done that now, so what is my fucking purpose? I can run around the Zones pretending to avoid patrols, imagining that Dr. D’s voice is still there to send me to sleep when I can’t get the sight of Jet Star’s broken body out of my head, but what good does that do me?</p><p> </p><p>What can I do? </p><p> </p><p>No matter how good he was, even Ghoul never built a bomb which stayed whole after detonating. They were all shattered into deadly pieces of shrapnel or they seemed to disappear, becoming a part of the desert. I should know, I used to hide behind the car when he would drive out to ‘the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, Girlie’ and let his creations destroy the sand dunes nearby.</p><p> </p><p>If the Witch is going to keep my family, she could at least take my memories of them. I could pretend they had never existed instead of living with the knowledge that they’re all gone.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe I’m more like Ghoul’s bombs than I thought. It would explain why I feel like I’ve been torn into pieces, like a traitor’s jacket ripped up for the Other mailbox.</p><p> </p><p>Everything hurts. I can still feel a sword in my hands, Cherri’s hand on my shoulder, Poison’s arms around me, Ghoul’s fingers messing up my hair, Jet’s hand on mine while she taught me to write my name, the drop in my stomach whenever Kobra would let me ride around on his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>It’s too much.</p><p> </p><p>I can feel everything, all at the same time, covering my body. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not like the power of that soul destroying the city. It’s like all their souls, all the people I’ve lost, have come back and they’re all trying to reach me at the same time and it hurts so much, my chest hurts and my head aches and I can’t breathe and I can’t see and </p><p>I Don’t. Know. What. To. Do.</p><p> </p><p>This is a mess. The city, me, my head, this… letter? Journal? I don’t know.</p><p> </p><p>Writing was never the thing I was good at, that was Cherri’s skill.</p><p> </p><p>He could write a poem in minutes which would bounce around your brain so much that it felt like you lost all your braincells from how much it ran into your other thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>He said he couldn’t teach me. Said it was the kinda thing you picked up by yourself. He didn’t mention how much shit you had to go through to pick it up.</p><p> </p><p>D knew, always had done. Probably didn’t want to tell me so I wouldn’t go out and look for bad situations for a few lines of shiny sounding words. </p><p> </p><p>I need to leave this place, this hut or shack or whatever it is. There’s a blanket here, at least. Not much else. </p><p> </p><p>Why am I writing this down? Maybe if there’s a physical record of my existence then I won’t just disappear as soon as I step out onto the sand. </p><p> </p><p>That’s dumb, I won’t vanish. </p><p> </p><p>So why do I feel like I’m already gone?</p><p> </p><p>I think I’m lost.</p><p> </p><p>-Girl.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thought I'd try something new and write from The Girl's perspective. As always, I hope you enjoyed this.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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